


Two drops of water

by bards_witcher



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, but yeah this was sad and soft and I hope you enjoy, the nsfw is handjobs at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bards_witcher/pseuds/bards_witcher
Summary: My giftee asked for Geralt/Eskel and asked for a bit of nsfw, bit of fluff and a bit of angst so I bring you the sacking of kaer morhen
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Kudos: 17
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	Two drops of water

Geralt was just leaving Vizima when he heard the news, or more specifically it was spat and laughed at him.

It wasn’t new that humans weren’t fond of him, well all witchers, but especially him because he was different. For the most part, he blocked it out, cast their insults to the back of his mind, and only really allowed himself to breathe and relax a little when it was just him and Roach in the wilderness.

This time however Geralt couldn’t ignore the insults and jabs, especially when one woman said he was running with his tail tucked between his legs now that his home had been destroyed. That was the first of many, and at first, he just thought it was a new low for the humans to try and torment him with, but as he continued out of town Geralt grew more and more uncomfortable with the detail they knew of Kaer Morhen.

About how their mages were stuck to stakes and burnt alive in the courtyard whilst they cut down every stinking witcher they saw and stuck their leader, Rennes, head on a spike to wave around like a trophy. 

It was that last comment that finally made him stop walking, that earned Geralt a couple of jeers from the growing crowd as he tried to think of anything, any excuse as to how these people could know who the fuck Rennes was, no is, that didn’t involve an attack on Kaer Morhen. 

All the while ignoring the thought at the back of his mind telling him that Eskel had stayed back that year because he definitely couldn’t think about that just yet.

It was clear he wouldn’t get the answer simply by asking them, so Geralt grabbed the man who had mentioned his instructor's name and fisting the collar of his shirt hauled him up so the toes of his boots were just scraping the dirt, and delighting far too much in the stench of fear that poured off of the man. For all their talk moments ago, it was clear Geralt still had an edge over them, how his guild may have been attacked but that didn’t make him any less terrifying.

Even with the townsfolk surrounding him, threatening to kill him like a dog too, all it took was a flash of too sharp teeth and the cold, hard gaze of his eyes to have the man in his hands whimpering in fear and blubber about the attack on Kaer Morhen, about the nearby towns rallying together with some mages to finally get rid of the witchers that lorded over them in their keep, spurred on by the anonymous article spread throughout the continent on the depiction of witchers.

That was all Geralt needed to hear, and all he was willing to bear through, as he pushed past the crowds to get out of the god's forsaken town and have a chance to truly go through what had happened in his head.

He doesn’t get far. He walks somewhat blindly into the surrounding forest, constantly keeping back the thoughts fighting to the forefront of his mind, and it’s only when he can hear the call of nearby birds and the thumps of rabbits hopping about that Geralt collapses onto his knees and finally give in to the thoughts eating away at him.

Kaer Morhen had been attacked. His home had been ransacked and destroyed and with it every person he had known, friends and instructors, his brothers, all gone if the townsfolk were to be believed. One name burned the back of his throat, aching to be let out but he couldn’t speak it, didn’t want to truly acknowledge the loss.

So, he didn’t, Geralt pushed back the thoughts of the possible assault and the feelings of anger, frustration, and grief as he just tried to focus on setting up camp to get through the night. 

A whistle and it wasn’t long before Roach joined him, a small comfort and he pressed into her shoulder a little longer than normal, but no one was there to call him out on it. It was automatic the way he set up his camp, and he couldn’t even bring himself to hunt something small or even chew on the dried meat he knew sat at the bottom of his bag.

He couldn’t even bring himself to sharpen his swords, too on edge as his control felt like it was balancing on a knife-edge so resigned himself to a night of broken meditation to avoid thinking of Eskel’s blood staining the stone of their home.

.

It wasn’t any easier the next morning and his chest felt heavy thinking back on the man’s words from yesterday. It was impossible surely, humans didn’t have the eyes to spot the path up to the keep, the path that had taken many a witcher and trainees life over the decades, and even then a keep full of witchers awaited them, skilled fighters who were faster, stronger and more agile. There was no way a few towns worth of people had been able to decimate his guild. At least that’s what Geralt told himself as each day passed.

It was three weeks after he’d first heard about the sacking of Kaer Morhen that he was stepping into Kaedwen. Almost unconsciously he’d been heading towards the keep, or what he hoped would still be Kaer Morhen, the past few weeks only taking small contracts just so he could get by and get there faster.

Still, Geralt heard the whispers get louder about the sacking of Kaer Morhen the deeper he traveled into Kaedwen, but he ignored them and kept moving, sticking to the dense forests to avoid any villages ire and it was fine for a time.

He was almost at the killer when he saw scraps of paper embedded into the mud, wet, torn, and illegible, but that didn’t matter when there was one posted on a tree in perfect condition, almost as if it was left there to taunt him, and that’s when he saw it Monstrum, or a Description on the witcher.

The words made him sick to his stomach, especially as the realization dawned on him, on the hundreds of footprints he could track in the mud which would all end up at Kaer Morhen, would end with the sight of the keep in ruins and his fellow witchers strewn about and lifeless with corpses half picked at by birds, and Eskel would be one of them.

Eskel who had taught him to pirouette for the first time after Varin’s beatings had failed to teach him, who had snuck out of their dorm with him after hours to climb up the rafters and pull tricks on the older witchers, Eskel who had stuck by his side as his body was tortured by the second set of trials and would be the first to draw a weapon on anyone who commented on his new appearance. Yes, Eskel who had been his first kiss before they entered Speartip’s cave and who had been the next one and the next until they’d been found and caned for it because it didn’t do well to become attached to other witchers, the profession didn’t allow it.

Now he could see why, but Eskel was supposed to be safe back at the keep, had all but begged him to stay with him, just to spend some time together for themselves, maybe if he had…

No, he couldn’t dwell on what ifs and maybe’s, Eskel was gone, dead, and Geralt had never been able to tell him the truth even before the trials, and especially after that first beating they got when they were found kissing. 

Still, thoughts of him and Eskel sitting outside the keep, drinks in hand as they reminisced about memories of their youth clouded his mind, of strong hands helping him up when he’d been kicked breathless to the floor, of sticking a pot to a giant bumblebee until Vesemir found them and tanned their hides afterward. 

He could never say I love you to Eskel now and if he knew how to cry, he’s sure the grief and despair of losing him would have him weeping on the floor like a babe. Instead, he stood there, frozen in time hoping that if he stayed there, if he never went back to the keep, he would never truly know, but he had too. 

Had to know what became of Eskel, if he had fought tooth and nail to save himself or been cut down before he could draw a sword. Geralt had to see for himself that Eskel was well and truly gone for him to really believe, even as his chest ached and he struggled to breathe as his throat tightened at the thought.

So it was he mounted Roach and began the long trek up to Kaer Morhen, his heart pounding with every step closer and silently wishing that this all wasn’t true even as he felt bile rise in his throat at what might greet him at the gates.

.

Geralt saw the smoke first. Thick, dark smoke that hung in the air like a thundercloud, thick and cloying and making it impossible to breathe, or maybe that was the fact he would be finally seeing his love- no best friends’ fate.

When he came around the bend in the path he almost sighed in relief when he saw the keep's walls, still standing tall above him, almost.

That was until the sick, cloyingly sweet, smell of death hit him, almost made him wretch from the intensity of it, but he wasn’t given a reprieve as he got closer and the path darkened brown with blood and then he was at the gate, half smashed as it hung open and covered in blood.

Almost as if in a daze he dismounted Roach and slipped through the gap in the metal and that’s when he heard it, the sound of something being dragged and grunts from exertion. Geralt just saw red, drawing his sword and ready to slice whoever had been foolish enough to remain at the witcher’s keep when yellow eyes met his. Vesemir.

For a moment he let himself hope, despite the limbs and bodies littering the courtyard around them, Vesemir had stayed at the keep, if he had survived surely Eskel-

That was until Vesemir shook his head, a forlorn almost desperate look in his eyes as he turned away from Geralt, unable to hold his gaze any longer, and nothing else had to be said as he collapsed onto his knees just like any hope he’d had left.

He could have been sat there for hours, still trying to comprehend with the fact that Eskel was actually gone. They’d promised to meet again at the start of winter, to leave on the path together for a while and be with each other, but now he wouldn’t get any of that, wouldn’t ever be greeted by strong arms and a deep voice, wouldn’t have a warm bed to slip into when loneliness clawed at him in the dead of night.

It was only when a firm hand landed on his shoulder that he blinked himself to awareness and felt Vesemir squeeze his shoulder for some comfort for both of them.

“Have you-“ Geralt didn’t recognize his voice, so hoarse and cracked that he almost winced from the pain, so he was thankful when Vesemir didn’t even let him finish and for that he was grateful

“No” Again Geralt felt the smallest flicker of hope, but he quickly smothered it, not letting himself dare to think for a second “I looked, for you, but most of them are unrecognizable”

He didn’t dare move in case his carefully crafted self-control broke but Geralt did look up at his mentor, could see the horror still deep set in his eyes, something that would likely haunt him for the rest of his years but still he had to ask. “How did you-“

“Not yet, please, just not now” It seemed as if the last few weeks finally caught up to Vesemir and he all but collapsed beside Geralt, both of them staring off into the distance and ignoring the bloodshed around them as they tried to think of absolutely anything else. “Need to burn them before necrophages come“

He knows it to be true, hell he’s learned everything about monsters and yet he’s still reluctant to move, doesn’t want to look at their faces, scared that Eskel’s’ lifeless face will stare back at him, but he chases away that fear to stand back up and offer a hand down to Vesemir, the first good interaction he’s had with anyone since he heard about the sacking.

“C’mon, it’ll be faster with two of us” Vesemir looks up at him for a moment and nods before taking his hand and then they leave to work through the night.

.

It was three days later, not that he was counting, when he and Vesemir lit the final pyre. Vesemir wasn’t wrong when he had said the bodies were hard to identify, and he doesn’t know whether it’s relief or despair he feels when Eskel still hasn’t been found. Despite what the older witcher had tried to say, Geralt would know if Eskel was there, would recognize him in a second, and yet as the flames grew higher, he still felt unsettled not knowing what had happened to him.

The townsfolk had been merciless in their attack, letting the words of a coward rile them up and attack anyone they saw, not even caring to spare the trainees who hadn’t yet undergone the trials or the boys who had been too young to formally start their training yet.

They stayed until the flames were nothing more than embers to mourn for their lost brothers and the ruin of their guild. The rest of the night had the two of them drinking vodka in silence, each thinking back on fonder times until they were drunk enough to stomach going to bed.

.

Next came the cleaning, a seemingly impossible task given how it stained every surface, at least part of their trade meant they knew how to get rid of the worst blood stains, some areas where the blood was so too deep set Geralt was tempted to throw a bomb in and be done with it, it wasn’t like he or Vesemir would ever step foot in that portion of the keep again.

It was another two days later when he was scrubbing the brick in the courtyard, Vesemir having long retired to his room, drink in hand, as he let the witcher grieve for a time. 

Geralt almost didn’t hear the footsteps getting closer which left him scrambling for his sword to face whoever had come to finish the job. He half expected to hear the person run screaming given how his hair was bloody and matted, blood and dirt seemed embedded in his skin and not to mention the slightly crazed look in his eye.

He was just about to launch forward to get the first strike until he saw who it was, truly saw who it was. 

Eskel, dirty and looking a little gaunt, but it was him, all broad shoulders and crooked smile that left Geralt little to do but stare. In the back of his mind, he knew he’d dropped his sword, knew that a year ago he would’ve gotten a beating for it because that wasn’t how a witcher treated his sword, but right now all he could think was that Eskel was here, he was alive and he could almost choke on the emotion that seemed to bubble at the back of his throat so instead, he darted forward to wrap Eskel in his arms and let out a sigh when strong arms pulled him even closer.

“Hello, Wolf” Geralt couldn’t help but pull away, not fully, just enough so that he could pull Eskel into a kiss instead, one desperate and feverish in his need to just feel and get close, and all he could do was pull Eskel even closer when he felt the other witcher reciprocate just as eagerly until their lungs ached for air.

“I thought you- How-?” He’s quieted by the press of Eskel’s lips against his and Geralt can’t help but melt a little at the touch until they pull apart instead to press their foreheads together, an action so intimate and so them as they take in each other, their lips brushing together with every breath of air or word spoken.

“I know I was supposed to be here, should’ve been teaching the trainees some signs but truth is I missed you, so I skipped class and went out to our tree” Eskel stopped only so he could kiss him, a kiss that was almost like worship and Geralt felt his chest tighten at the thought “Heard ‘em coming but I never would have made it back to warn the others, don’t think it would ‘a made a difference”

Geralt just pulled Eskel into a hug and wrapped a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck to pull him into the warmth and safety of his shoulder, his neck, wherever he wanted, to try and offer some comfort as Eskel whispered into his shoulder “You saved me Geralt”

He couldn’t help but scoff, contradicted by the way he held Eskel even closer, sure he could feel his bones creak from how tight his grip was, and yet Eskel said nothing and held him just as tight “Always a romantic, aren’t you?” 

They both chuckled even though it was hollow, weighed down by the events of the past few weeks, and then it was silent and just them again until he felt Eskel grip him tighter, almost as if preparing to ask him something difficult, but he knew him so well Eskel didn’t have to say a word “Vesemir, just Vesemir”

“So many” Eskel buried his face into his neck again, as if trying to carve a place for himself and just forget all that was going on, and frankly he didn’t blame him as he did the exact same and just breathed in the scent of Eskel, truly appreciated the feel of him warm and alive in his arms.

He felt the words fighting to get out, the three words that had tormented him for decades but even now he struggled to get them out, but Eskel could see straight through him, had always been able to tell what he wanted or thought “I know Wolf, same here”

Vesemir used to call them two drops of water and now he thinks that there has to be some truth in it to know your partner so well, so thoroughly, you don’t even have to use words to communicate and he just clings to Eskel all the tighter for it.

.

That evening when Vesemir joins them for dinner, eyes glazed and with a slight tilt to his walk he takes one look at Eskel and without a word pulls him into a tight embrace, holding each other for another moment before they sat down to eat the meager food they had left after it was pillaged by the townspeople.

It was quiet, somber, and not a word was spoken until Vesemir said his farewells and retired to his room. Geralt and Eskel followed soon after and he was silently pleased when Eskel followed him into the room, only for the witcher to pull him into a hug and he couldn’t help but cling to Eskel just as tight.

Gradually, they started stripping each other until they were in nothing but their braies before getting under the bed and quickly pulling each other close until they were nothing but a tangle of limbs, two ends of the same whole and for the first time since he’d heard about the sacking, in Eskel’s arms, he finally fell asleep.

.

Work goes by quicker with three hands, but even so, they're still struck by the horror that was Kaer Morhen that all three of their reflexes are slower when they hear someone get closer, only getting their swords when aard blows away the broken gate blocking the bridge.

A witcher then, maybe someone the townspeople hired to make sure the job was finished and when he returned would get a pitchfork in the back as payment.

It’s Vesemir that relaxes first, Eskel still tense and half stood in front of him as if to protect him, and it’s only when the witcher steps into the courtyard they recognize the medallion, a wolf, a brother, and a part of Geralt itches to get closer and make sure he’s okay.

He has a faint awareness of the witcher, Lambert he remembers, confirmed when Vesemir calls out to him, a fairly young witcher who had always despised Kaer Morhen and anything witcher related. Maybe he had come to finish the job himself after all.

Geralt doesn’t have to chew over how to ask him what he’s doing here, as Vesemir does it for him, sword half raised and not making light on reminding how much Lambert just how much he hated this place to which Lambert only scoffed at as he folded his arms across his chest to eye all three of them up.

“I would have gladly burnt this place down to the ground myself, but I had friends here, now all I’ve got is you”

The explanation is enough for all of them and they leave Lambert to truly look at the damage, sure the bodies were gone but blood and decay were ripe in the air, as they kept on working out the last of the blood and dried guts.

That night is another night of silent drinking where he and Eskel can barely keep their hands off of each other, neither of them still believing that they’re alive still. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the other two, Vesemir’s eyes often turning sad before taking another sip whilst Lambert’s took a bitter edge as he sneered at the wall.

They leave the table together, Geralt’s hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, fingers grazing his neck to feel the slow thump of his heartbeat, something strong to ground him and reassure him that yes Eskel was really there as they went up to their room, no longer his but theirs.

Just like every other night, they become desperate as soon as the door closes behind them, teeth nipping at kiss swollen lips as rough hands just about manage not to tear their clothes off as they collapse onto the bed.

This night feels different though as he pulls Eskel on top of him, moans at the deep hum of Eskels’ chest above him when he asks ‘you sure Wolf’ and again when he pulls Eskel closer, angling their hips just right so their cocks can rub together as he tells him yes, that he needs this, to feel them and Eskel’s left groaning against his lips as they kiss for the countless time that night.

Geralt can’t wait, doesn’t want to as he still feels the phantom loss of Eskel like am ache in his chest and he just needs more, to truly feel him, them together, so he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around Eskel’s cock, earning a strangled “Fuck Wolf” he can’t help but silence with a kiss.

Eskel’s already so wet with precome and twitching in his grip that he’s sure watching Eskel come will make him follow very soon after so he can’t help but whine when his hand gets pulled off Eskel’s cock, which just earns him a chuckle and a kiss to make up for it.

He’s not left wanting long though as Eskel wraps a hand around both of them, jerking them off with quick, short strokes that leave them both panting and Geralt rutting into Eskel’s grip as he looks up into amber eyes so full of love and want that Geralt can’t stop himself from talking for once “Leave with me”

Eskel just moans into his mouth and adds a sinful twist of his wrist that leaves him gasping as he answers “I’m not letting you go, Wolf, promised I’d stay with you last winter”

“Next you’ll be – shit Eskel ‘m close- you’ll be asking for a handfasting ceremony” Eskel practically purrs at the comment and his hand speeds up around them “Just us, just need you”

Eskel rests their foreheads together, and it’s hot and sweaty as they groan with every other stroke of Eskel’s hand but it’s perfect as Eskel whispers “Together” against his lips, hand twisting just right around his cock to have Geralt spilling between them with a moan, echoed by Eskel as he comes too and covers his chest in hot come. 

He’s unbothered by it for now as he pulls Eskel against him to kiss them both breathless, at least until Eskel’s come covered hand tangles into his hair and Geralt’s left cursing as he shoves Eskel away to get a towel whilst calls of ‘pretty boy’ fill the room. 

They settle in a mess of limbs not long after, only soft reassurances muttered between them and already unspoken thoughts of a bellatyn ceremony and maybe a week or two in Toussaint after to celebrate as they sleep to the sound of each other’s whispered breaths and deafening heartbeats which somehow manage to be in sync with each other.


End file.
